


lucky seven

by honeycombkiss



Series: waited just to love you [13]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Characters (17/18 years old), Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, It's All Very Sweet, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Post-IT (2017), Teenage Losers Club (IT), also maggie and went are incredible parents who love their son and nobody can change my mind, and then comes his eighteenth birthday party at bills, and there is alcohol and weed and a surprise gift, basically friendship fluff but i love richie and i love the losers club so, except nobody moves away or forgets because that's bullshit, losers club antics, richie loves traditions and everyone is very indulgent, richie's eighteenth birthday, which is they all tattoo each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23525140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeycombkiss/pseuds/honeycombkiss
Summary: Lucky number 7, Eddie thought. The clover, the number, the everlasting endurance of friendships forged in shitty water and blood pacts. Those memories were sometimes so fatal, so hard to grasp. But this, here, sitting in the loud and smoke-filled basement of the Denbrough’s, surrounded and sealed by this group of misfits was overwhelming in the best way possible.Or Richie’s big eighteenth birthday is full of age-old traditions and surprise gifts!
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: waited just to love you [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1515326
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	lucky seven

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place in March of 1994, during the Losers Senior year of high school. They are aged 17/18.
> 
> I had hoped to have this published on Richie’s birthday (3/7) but life somehow always has other plans. Like school and then no school and then online school and a whole goddamn country under quarantine. Life, y’know? But without further ado, here is Richie’s eighteenth birthday!

Monday, March 7, 1994

Birdsong filled the room as Eddie blinked slowly. He stretched out his legs and yawned. His entire right side was warmed by the pressure of his boyfriends heavy, sleeping body. From their place tangled between the many blankets and sheets that covered Richie’s full-size bed, beneath one of the large bedroom windows, Eddie was captivated by the soft rays of sunlight flickering in.

But, with one glance over at the boy sleeping beside him, Eddie was hooked. Watching the sunrise through the bedroom window wasn’t nearly as breathtaking as the person beside him. Eddie drank in the sight of him; the freckles that dusted his face, the long stretch of his nose, the defined lines of his jaw. The weak morning light brightened Richie’s pale skin and dark brown curls. The long fingers of his right hand held the duvet covers loosely. Richie’s hair was a mess against the pillow they were sharing, his plush lips pouting where they were smushed against the pillow. Eddie couldn’t look away.

Today was a big day, Eddie reminded himself. Every morning he awoke beside Richie was a glorious day already, but today was even bigger.

This gangly idiot, the stupid love of his stupid life, was somehow legal now. A full-grown adult. Somehow, they’d both made it to adulthood. Oh how Eddie had sometimes wondered if it would be possible.

(and if he focused too hard—and oh how he often struggled not to—he could just picture the cold air of the sewer of the—)

But now, laying tangled together, Eddie wondered if it hadn’t also somehow been easy.

He didn’t want to move now, didn’t want to disturb the magic that flittered around them. Richie breathed deeply in sleep, his long arm thrown over Eddie’s waist, but Eddie could hear Went’s soft morning singing and the smell of cinnamon French toast was already filling the house. The scent had already traveled up the grand staircase, down the hall, and now into the bedroom they often shared.

 _But today is special_ , Eddie reminded himself, resolving that by the time he had counted to ten twice in his head, he’d have to get up. So he ticked the numbers down mentally, all while snuggling closer to Richie. If for no other reason than to make it harder to get up.

But it was for Richie, Eddie knew. He had to get up, finish preparing for Richie’s special morning and still somehow make it to first period with enough time to mark his name on the roll. (Sure he was eighteen, but Sonia still knew how to make his life a living hell. It felt important to Eddie to still put up enough of a façade to make it until graduation.)

His mental timer dinged, so he sighed and pressed a gentle kiss to Richie’s hairline. He pulled away reluctantly, fumbling gracelessly. The goal was to get out of bed without waking Richie, and Eddie was determined. But as he wrestled with the duvet, he found that he and Richie were tangled. Desperately, he wriggled again to somehow break free. There had to be an opening somewhere. He had to get out and help celebrate Richie’s eighteenth birthday. So he wiggled down beneath the blankets, hoping to find a way out underneath the blanket prison.

“Morning birthday blowie?” Richie’s voice was croaky, startling Eddie. “It’s my lucky day,” he moaned obscenely, though Eddie hadn’t made any movement towards Richie’s dick or otherwise.

“That’s not tradition,” Eddie murmured lowly, slowly rising back to the surface of the blankets.

“Who needs tradition then?” Richie tried, a sly and sleepy look across his face.

“You do, asshole,” Eddie tried to get up again, but Richie wrapped his long arms around him, trapping Eddie even further.

“Let me go, you squid,” Eddie commanded quietly, wiggling in his arms.

“I’ve caught a big one!” Richie cheered quietly in a gruff sea captains Voice, though still much too loud for the early morning. Eddie went still, they couldn’t be discovered like this.

“Pretend to be asleep,” Eddie whispered, biting lightly at Richie’s earlobe. “Don’t ruin your birthday,”

“Mhm,”

“And let me go,”

“Alrighty, matey,” Richie continued on in the sea captain Voice, though he did ease up his grip on Eddie, making it so that Eddie could finally slip out of Richie’s embrace and off of the cozy bed.

Eddie immediately shoved his feet into the slippers he kept by Richie’s bedside. Richie rolled to the edge of the bed, long arms stretched out in front of him, fingers brushing at Eddie’s skin as he walked around the room. With Richie’s warm gaze on him, Eddie dressed into an outfit he’d had planned for weeks—corduroy pants and a soft, cozy green sweater—jumping on the floor until he could shove his feet back into the slippers. March in Derry was still cold; in fact, it had even snowed on many of Richie’s birthdays over the years. So while Eddie dressed to impress, he also considered the weather.

Eddie brushed at his hair, frowning at his reflection when stray strands wouldn’t lay flat. Many of Richie’s haircare items—all of which had been gifts from other people—were scattered against his dresser, the large wooden mirror sitting atop it was a great place to fix one’s hair in the morning. Eddie messed with his hair before turning towards the bed and his sleepy boyfriend.

“I’ll be right back,” Eddie murmured, repeating, “Pretend to be asleep.”

Eddie slipped out of Richie’s bedroom and into the hallway with one final nod towards Richie, who had blown him several kisses. Eddie’s stomach was currently exploding in butterflies at the affection his boyfriend showered over him, but he had to ignore it; he had a task at hand.

Eddie had played a major roll in Richie’s birthday traditions since they were ten years old and Eddie’s birthday surprise had been biking to Richie’s house that morning instead of making Richie bike to his. But Richie had still been enjoying his birthday breakfast and Eddie had been invited inside to share and Went had driven them to school on his way to his dentistry. Eight years later, and Eddie had been there every morning to start Richie’s special day.

“Good morning, Eds,” Maggie greeted from where she sat at the counter, sipping a steaming cup of coffee. She had on a bright smile, only half of her makeup done. A compact sat before her, though, as she laughed, “I’ve been trying to get everything done this morning, that I nearly forgot to get ready myself!”

Went laughed at that, a happy chortle that lit up his whole face. It kind of made Eddie want to vomit and swoon at the same time; which was usually Richie’s reaction. Richie’s parents were very happy, so these kinds of interactions were frequent.

“Birthday boy still asleep?” Went asked Eddie, who nodded eagerly and apparently gave everything away.

“Oh don’t lie,” Maggie chided gently with a little smile. “He’s already awake?”

“I mean only just barely,” Eddie tried, bouncing onto the balls of his feet. “He probably fell back asleep after I left,”

“Hm,” Maggie nodded with a smile. “I guess we’ll go find out. Is breakfast almost ready, Went? We don’t want the boys to be late,”

Went made an overexaggerated gesture towards the pile of French toast that was sitting on plastic plate atop the counter. Maggie laughed fondly, rolling her eyes and standing up. “I guess I’ll get to my makeup during breakfast. Although, I do hope I don’t scare Richie looking like this,”

Went had already made his way across the kitchen, wrapping an arm around Maggie’s shoulders. “Scared that he has the most beautiful mother in all the world?” Went asked, a smile growing. Maggie rolled her eyes and lightly elbowed him, but the shining glimmer in her eyes gave away her true affection. Eddie had too look away, down at his feet.

“Ready, Eds?” Went asked after a moment, and Eddie’s gaze snapped back up. He nodded with a smile, causing Went to announce, “Operation eighteenth birthday is a go!”

Together, the three headed towards Richie’s bedroom. Maggie in her floral robe and Went already dressed for his workday led the way, Eddie close on their heels. As they ascended the stairs, Eddie couldn’t help but wonder how his life had become so intertwined with the Tozier’s; how marvelous it was that they had welcomed him into their life so wholly and without a second thought. Even this, a sacred family tradition, had made room for Eddie.

They approached the bedroom door, and Eddie held his breath, hoping to savor every last second. Next year they’d be far away from Derry and from these two people who loved them. Next year Eddie would be on birthday duty alone. So today, with Maggie and Went at his side, Eddie held his breath as they shoved open Richie’s bedroom door.

As if watching from someone else’s vision, Eddie saw Richie pop up in bed, glee and elation glowing around him. Without needing to think, Eddie launched into the happy birthday song with Maggie and Went. And just like every year before, the song was longer than necessary when musical Maggie added in verses and wacky Went sang in voices. Eddie had long since given up on staying in tune or on beat, instead singing as slowly as possible to further elongate the song and annoy Richie. And although Richie was the most impatient fucker Eddie had ever met, his smile didn’t fade even as the song crested and peaked.

“Encore, encore!” Richie cheered in some sort of foreign accent Eddie couldn’t identify.

And as Went started to sing again, Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed on what he was supposed to do, and Maggie quickly cut the thing off.

“If we keep singing then breakfast will get cold,” Maggie smiled,

“Oh fuck yeah!” Richie cheered, and Maggie winced, admonishing Richie with, “ _Language!”_

Richie ignored her, focusing in on Eddie who still stood at the edge of the bed. “Don’t you look so cute, cute, _cute_ , Spagheds,” Richie’s eyes widened at how rough his voice still was with sleep.

“Keep smoking and your voice will soon sound like that forever,” Eddie chided without thought, the words tumbling out.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Richie teased, purposefully making his voice sound even worse. Eddie’s eyes widened, but before Richie could make things worse, Went’s voice started.

“One new birthday outfit delivery!” Went exclaimed excitedly. “Guaranteed to make any jackass look attractive!”

“Does nobody care about their language?” Maggie whined, causing Went and Richie to shout at her,

“Very funny, Margaret, pot calling the kettle black,”

and,

“Fuck off, Mom! You swear more than dad and I combined!”

Just outside the bedroom door sat a red and blue birthday gift bag that Eddie hadn’t noticed before. Went grabbed it and tossed it at Richie, who was still cocooned in his blankets. In fact, since Eddie had looked away Richie had wrapped the blanket around his head, pulling it closed against his chest. To Eddie, Richie looked like an adorable little bear or gangly baby deer. Eddie’s insides melted and he had to look away before he did something stupid, like climbing back in bed to cuddle.

“Get dressed and meet us downstairs quickly,” Maggie instructed. “We don’t want you boys late for school.”

“We’re both adults now,” Richie said, cocking his head to the side. “I’m a free man now.”

“A free man who needs to graduate high school still,” Went shot back with a grin, just as Eddie got out,

“Yeah, but my mom still might murder me.” Went snapped his fingers and pointed at Eddie,

“That, too,” he nodded. “Hurry up, young man!”

With that, Maggie and Went slipped out of the room, their conversation carrying behind them, getting quieter as they descended the staircase.

“Come on,” Eddie prompted when Richie didn’t move to get up. In fact, he only flopped his back onto the bed, burrowing into the pillows that rested by the headrest. “Richie, seriously!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie called back, still making no other movement. “Just basking in the birthday glory,”

Eddie couldn’t rob him of it, so instead he kneeled down and fumbled underneath Richie’s bed. Weeks ago, Eddie had hidden Richie’s birthday present for this moment exactly. He’d fussed so much on what the perfect moment would look like—private, intimate, happy, neither overshadowed nor overpowering—but Eddie realized another moment might not arrive that day. Here, in the dawning morning light, they were just _RichieandEddie._ There couldn’t have been a better time.

“If you won’t obey by getting up, at least close your eyes for me,” Eddie instructed.

“Oh, kinky,” Richie teased, but upon inspection his eyes were closed. His eyelids fluttered as Richie clamped them shut, eyelashes meeting the freckles that were clustered there. Eddie really wanted to get back in bed with him.

“Happy Birthday,” Eddie said, feeling sort of lame as he placed the gift in Richie’s lap. He hadn’t splurged on wrapping, so the gift would be visible as soon as Richie opened his caramel brown eyes. He held his breath for _one two three_ and then, “Open your eyes for gods sake!” as if Richie wasn’t graciously waiting for Eddie’s next instruction.

“Yeesh,” Richie mumbled, though he did pop back up into a seated position, all while widening his eyes first just to see and then in astonishment. He looked like a fish, mouth opening and closing repeatedly in an o shape. Eddie would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so stressed about Richie actually liking the damn gift.

“Wha-?” Richie asked wordlessly, adding on a, “How?!”

“I bought the last one,” Eddie shrugged sheepishly. He’d stressed so much about Richie enjoying his gift that he hadn’t stopped to realize that it was exactly what Richie had wanted. “Back when you first told me about it,”

“This is insane! It’s incredible!” Richie held the vinyl in his grasps like it was precious, important. His eyes were still wide. Eddie bit his bottom lip, forcing back a smile. Richie deserved the world; how did he not already know that?

“Yeah?” Eddie asked, prompting Richie to say more. Richie turned the vinyl over in his hands, studying the backside now. He didn’t appear to have even heard Eddie talking, too busy running his mouth with half-finished thoughts and fragmented sentences.

“I just, wow, and I just didn’t think, and wow I didn’t realize there was a bonus track, fuck,” Richie’s blabbering stopped, his eyes darting back up to Eddie’s own. Richie’s iris’ shimmered in the low light, and Eddie had to blink quickly to avoid exposing how important this entire thing was to him.

“You like it?” Eddie asked, once again prompting Richie to share.

“Like it? I fucking love it, Eds,” Richie grinned, dramatically holding the vinyl to his chest, rocking it slowly. “I’m going to love it like it’s my own first born!”

“Oh fuck off,” Eddie said, though he wasn’t bothered in the slightest. He was overwhelmed. He was happy. He was suddenly realizing how late they were going to be. “Come on, Rich, time to get dressed, your parents are waiting with French toast.”

Surprisingly, Richie jumped from the bed to quickly dress. He had to stop to air guitar a song he was most likely making up on the spot, before finally opening the traditional birthday outfit from his parents.

“Whoa! Yowza,” Richie laughed, a surprised one that came from his belly. “Look at this atrocity, Eds! It’s gonna blind somebody!”

And indeed, it just might. The brightest, most neon yellowish-green shirt stared them down. Somehow it was collared, three little buttons open at the top.

“That thing is hideous,” Eddie scrunched his nose, eyebrows furrowing. “It’s a traffic hazard,”

“It’s incredible!” Richie breathed in awe, before raking a hand through his hair and pulling Eddie downstairs to the kitchen.

Hours later, Richie and Eddie clambered out of Richie’s beloved car— _Staci_ —and raced up the porch. Eddie, obviously, made it to the door first, shoving Richie aside to turn the doorknob and run into the Tozier’s home. It was bright and smelled like home. Eddie took in the sights around him, all the signs that it was one Richard Tozier’s birthday dinner. But mostly, Eddie wanted to watch the happiness and excitement that were painted in broad strokes against Richie’s face.

“Good afternoon, birthday boy!” Maggie turned her head around the corner. There was an uneasiness in her eyes, one that Eddie recognized, the weight of a situation sitting fully on her shoulders. But she hid it well, as Richie didn’t appear to notice any of it. Instead, he rushed across the entryway and towards his mother.

Eddie couldn’t keep the smile off his face, overwhelmed by Richie’s contagious excitement as he flung himself into his mother’s arms. Ever since his last growth spurt, he now stood nearly a full head taller than her; her perfect curls—the ones Richie got from her—bounced as Richie enveloped her fully. Eddie’s heart felt really full, watching his boyfriend engulf his mother in a tight embrace. And then he squeezed, and she squealed, yanking out of the embrace. She wacked him with the dishtowel that had been sitting atop her shoulder.

“Richard Tozier!” She berated not unkindly. But he just laughed, and pushed his curls out of his face.

“I say, I say,” he chanted in a cartoon voice for reasons Eddie wasn’t sure of.

Eddie followed Richie’s lead, leaving the front door open behind him when he heard the sounds of the other Losers arriving. Tradition was unbreakable.

Maggie had set the table and Went had no doubt strung the streamers that were laced throughout the kitchen and dining room. A large printed banner—the very one they’d hung for nearly a decade—was hanging from the kitchen entryway. _Happy Ninth Birthday Richie_ it read in bright, neon colors. Richie loved the stupid, ugly thing. Maggie always shook her head at it, Eddie knew. It had been a great addition to his _totally, tubular ninth birthday bash_ because Maggie had thought it to be a one-and-done sort of decoration. But, as legend went, Richie had cried his big, fat alligator tears and the banner had been rescued from the garbage can. Now it was a family heirloom.

“Good evening everyone,” Maggie smiled warmly as the loud, boisterous nearly fully grown Losers club filed into her kitchen. Went waved from his position standing at the stove, flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs, the floor around them covered in balloons of all colors and sizes.

“I hope everyone’s hungry,” Went said, smiling. “We’ve got bacon and sausage in the oven, and hashbrowns in that pan right there,” Went pointed, as if it was imperative that everyone knew the menu, as if anybody could forget.

“It’s breakfast for dinner,” Maggie smiled. “It’s Richie’s choice,”

“It’s been on the menu forever,” Went agreed.

“Yes’sir, fuhrevah!” Richie whistled around his tried and true prospector voice.

“Alright,” Went high fived his son, before flipping over another flapjack. “He’d said,” Went cleared his throat, before squeaking out in a high-pitched voice, “ _Daddy, breakfast for dinner is so crazy_!” And while the others laughed, even though they’d heard the story every single year, Eddie couldn’t keep his eyes off of the birthday boy, who was currently beaming.

“Wasn’t I just chuckalicious everyone?” Richie spoke in what was supposed to be a replica of his father’s voice. It wasn’t too far off, Eddie thought proudly.

And they weren’t far off from one another now, standing side-by-side in the kitchen. Richie stood only an inch or three shorter than his father. While Richie highly favored his mother, he had his fathers lanky form and quick-witted humor. They were a mismatched pair, a deep and clear love shared between the two.

“Well, hey, if everyone’s hungry why don’t we get started?” Went suggested, gesturing towards the set table. “Grab a plate and load up,” as his father finished speaking, Richie made a sound that might’ve meant to sound like a dump truck or a tractor of some sort, but mostly just sounded obnoxious.

Eddie dished his plate, having to squeeze between Beverly and Stan to avoid having to dish after Mike and Bill, who both tended to eat very large portions of everything. Richie sat at the head of the table, and as Eddie rounded the corner, Richie gestured to the seat beside him.

“As birthday King of the land, I do declare that your fine ass sits beside me,”

“More like gesture of the land,” Eddie teased, just to watch Richie’s face break into a grin. And to hear that laugh that he gave whenever Eddie got off a really good one. It was kind of his favorite.

And then he sat down beside Richie because he hadn’t denied the birthday boy a request in a decade and he didn’t plan on starting now.

X

Wednesday 9, 1994

Eddie couldn’t help but roll his eyes; again. He kind of wanted to close his eyes all together. Why did Bill think a huge house party was a good idea for Richie’s eighteenth birthday? They hadn’t even done it for his sixteenth. Because there was no reason to. Some things were more important than the entire baseball team breaking shit in your house while the bass of some song reverberated against the walls.

“You know how Richie is about tradition,” Eddie cut Bill off again with a huff and a roll of his eyes. “He doesn’t want a huge party.” Eddie glanced at the others. “It’s why we always go to Bill’s house on the Friday after his birthday, and order enough pizza to feed the entire track team, and Bev always brings booze and it’s why no one has given him his gift yet-”

“Which,” Ben cut Eddie off. “is a great point. What are we getting him?”

Each year, for as long as Eddie could remember, the Losers got together to gift Richie something special for his birthday. And for as long as Eddie could remember, he’d always beat the other Losers to it. He’d always gift Richie his own present on his actual birthday. It was more special that way, Eddie had decided a long time ago. Now, tradition couldn’t be broken. Even if Eddie wanted to; and he didn’t.

“We should just get Eddie something sexy to wear, that’d be a good birthday present for Richie,” Beverly teased. She looked over at Eddie, a smirk against her lips and a mischievous glint in her eyes. Eddie could feel his cheeks flushing red, as he suddenly chocked on his breath.

“What the fuck?!” Eddie exclaimed. The other Losers laughed around them.

“Th-th-that’s not a b-bad idea, Bev,” Bill goaded, clearly trying to get a reaction from Eddie. Though Eddie was mortified enough, didn’t need the others thinking about their sex life or picturing him in any sort of lingerie.

“That’s actually a horrible idea,” Eddie grumbled, glaring at Bill and then Bev. He ignored Stan’s snorting laughter, not interested in bringing attention to anyone else. “That’s not even a present.”

“Sure it is,” Bev counteracted, clearly not giving up. Eddie cursed himself for not dropping the topic when he had the chance. “It’ll even be a surprise, all tucked away underneath your innocent, goody-two-shoes, sweet boy façade clothes. It’ll be something lacey!”

Eddie’s cheek grew pinker and pinker with every word Beverly spoke. He so desperately wanted to hide away from the attention and the mortification.

“You said you liked my clothes!” Eddie defended, choosing to ignore the rest of her sentence.

“I do! But I certainly don’t expect there to be red lace lingerie underneath,” Beverly shrugged, as if she hadn’t just said something completely humiliating.

“I fucking hope not!” Eddie squawked.

“Leave him alone,” Ben chided with a laugh, bumping his shoulder against Bev’s. Beverly just shot Eddie another mischievous look, though she did lay off. Eddie wasn’t sure if they were in the clear or if Beverly was still planning on taking a trip to the department store on Eddie’s behalf.

“Ooh!” Beverly exclaimed a moment later, cutting off the conversation the others had begun. “I have the perfect idea! It’s basically free and he’s been talking about it for ages!”

X

Friday, March 11, 1994

Crowded together in the Denbrough’s basement—the basement that had sat lonely and stuffed full of junk for years; the basement that had eventually been finished by Mr. and Mrs. Denbrough into a cozy and drafty den—Eddie sat in Richie’s lap surveying the group surrounding him. Pizza boxes were piled high on the coffee table, two liter soda bottles, too.

Richie was singing along to the song on the radio, one that Eddie only vaguely recognized. Richie, as usual, had showed up at Bill’s, dug around in the deep pockets of his cargo pants until he’d pulled out one titled, ‘Smoocharoo’.

“Smoocharoo?” Stan had asked when Richie popped it into the tape player, the large speakers quickly reverberating with rock music.

“I like making up words!” Richie had called over the music, even as he spun the dial to increase its volume. Any louder, and even Eddie’s inner monologue would’ve been difficult to hear.

They hadn’t started smoking yet, leaving Richie’s hands free to roam up and down Eddie’s sides. Goosebumps trailed up Eddie’s arms, but even that paired with the endless bliss of physical affection wasn’t enough to break through the litany of thoughts and worries cycling and then recycling through Eddie’s mind.

Eddie still wasn’t sure. Even after he’d agreed with Beverly, and supervised her sanitizing her Aunt Catherine’s tools, he still wasn’t sure. Even after he’d spent all week talking himself out and then back into it, he still wasn’t sure. He didn’t think he’d ever be sure. But time was running out, Eddie knew, watching as Beverly dug out a birthday bag from Ben’s backpack.

The bag was old, quite obviously used and reused. But the print was still bold and happy, big block letters proclaiming _Happy Birthday_.

“Happy Birthday, Rich!” Beverly exclaimed, thrusting the bag at Richie, only to be stopped by Bill, who had thrown out an arm, launching the bag onto the floor. Everything happened quickly as Richie pounced, shoving Eddie to the side to lunge for the bag. Luck was on Richie’s side, as no one else in the room was lankier than him. His fingertips were close enough to reach, yet Ben was somehow close enough to kick it clear across the room and out of reach. As he took a breath to yell, Eddie flung himself across Richie’s lap in hopes of pinning him down, all the while yelling,

“What the _fuck_ , Bill?!”

Stan huffed, “What was that about?”

“We didn’t suh-sing!” Bill said by way of explanation, which of course ensued chaos.

“Are you _kidding_?!” Eddie complained, still laying across Richie.

“Seriously?” Stan rose his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed.

“Oh dear god, Bill, honestly?” Bev grumbled.

“Of fucking course, it’s tradition!” Richie yelled, way too close to Eddie’s ear, earning him an elbow to the sternum and a,

“That’s my fucking _ear!_ ”

“Fuck the birthday song,” Stan proclaimed, grabbing for the bag but before he could Mike and Bill broke into a loud and entirely off-key rendition of the birthday song. And although Eddie had sung that song quite a number of times already that week, he couldn’t deny Richie a goddamn thing so he joined in. It wasn’t so bad once Richie’s face lit up in joy, and the last verse finally faded.

Mike was beaming as he leaned down to pick up the birthday bag and finally, actually hand it over to Richie. Eddie scrambled off Richie, allowing him to finally sit up straight. He grabbed at the bag excitedly and in only seconds, the tissue paper was strewn across the room as some sort of tacky, self-made birthday decoration. And then Bev’s aunts’ friends tattoo gun was laying in Richie’s grasps, a look of mixed shock and elation already apparent on his features. His eyes were ever growing, as was his grin. And the brightness of it, the brightness that was always Richie, was nearly blinding in its illumination.

“Holy fuck!” Richie exclaimed, going instantly starry eyed. “I have so many ideas!”

“I knew it!” Beverly exclaimed, as if anybody had doubted her at all. “This entire operation was my idea,” Beverly puffed out her chest exaggeratedly. But she quickly laughed at herself. “Because you talked about it way back in like junior year, remember?”

“’Course I do,” Richie spoke in a Voice that sounded to Eddie like a cartoon horse might talk.

“Well then, happy birthday,” Beverly smiled wickedly. “Let the party begin! Rich, you first,”

“We have an idea,” Mike spoke up, smiling surely. “It was me and Stan’s idea,”

Stan flushed, glancing from Mike to Richie. “Mike read about it in a book, and then told me about it while we were out on the farm,”

“Yeah, this really interesting character had it,” Mike explained excitedly.

“You want me to be like a character in a book?” Richie fixed him with a look.

“Keep listening, dumbass,” Stan shot back quickly, a furrow in his eyebrows; everybody knew Stan hated being ignored. Richie responded with a fake glare, before shooting an exaggerated smile at Mike.

“Do continue, dear Mikey,”

Mike laughed. “So I passed the design by Stan, and then I asked Bill to sketch it out,”

“Buh-buh-bev help-helped with the, uh,” Bill spluttered. His stutter was nearly gone these days, but when he got too excited or had a little too much to drink or got a bit too frustrated the stutter came back in full force. And now, as he tripped over his tongue just to tell Richie their great idea, he cursed himself silently before attempting to continue. “She tweaked it fu-fu-for me,”

“After we perfected it, I realized one small problem. Without sweet Eddie’s seal of approval, you wouldn’t permanently add anything to your body,”

Eddie flushed, the red blush lighting up his face. “Stop! You make me sound like a controlling asshole!”

“Nah, Richie’s just whipped,” Beverly shrugged, the all familiar glint in her bright eyes.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Richie cooed in Eddie’s ear, a sweet little lilt to his voice.

“Fuck off,” Eddie grumbled, even if he really didn’t want Richie to stop, even if he kind of liked the attention.

“Let’s hear your great ideas, oh creative ones,” Richie prompted, eagerness in his eyes.

“No, I wanna hear yours,” Eddie counteracted quickly. “Because I’m already afraid of it.” The group laughed, though none as loud and obnoxious as Richie’s cackle.

“Oh sweet Eds,” Richie cooed. “I’ve been prepared for this day for like my whole life,” the high-pitched tone of his Voice was kind of annoying, Eddie thought, though he tried to focus on Richie’s potential disaster idea.

Several pairs of eyes were focused in on Richie as he clapped his hands and jumped into a story Eddie was still slightly afraid to hear the end of.

“Okay,” Richie began, rubbing his hands together and looking more serious than he had all night. “I’ve got this amazing, truly stellar idea. It came to me in a dream, ‘cause there was this really old wizard in my dream with this epically, incredibly long white beard who had this insane tattoo. And, actually it’s what gave him his magic powers, but that’s irrelevant,” Richie batted a hand, continuing on, “but the tattoo was on his chest and it was a skeleton without a head, y’know his neckbone just kinda ended, but the skeleton was juggling multiple skeleton heads who were making all different faces.”

“Wow yuh-yeah, that is cuh-cool,” Bill was genuine, a bright smile lighting up his face, even as the others all stared in shock.

“Okay, wait,” Stan sat up straighter, a seriousness in his fixed gaze on Richie. “So you didn’t want a tattoo because a character in a book had it, but you’re okay with sharing a tattoo with a dream wizard?”

“Yeah, duh,” Richie answered with a tone of obviousness, and Stan nodded, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Okay, just making sure,”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie cut in. “This is kind of crazy, right?” He wasn’t sure who he was talking to in particular but was pleased when Richie answered.

“Yeah, that’s what makes it so awesome,” Richie placed a sloppy, wet kiss at Eddie’s temple, but Eddie couldn’t savor in it as Richie quickly turned to face Mike, elbowing Eddie in the process. Richie was lanky and boney and Eddie wheezed as a searing pain lit up his side.

“Fuck you, Rich,” Eddie groaned, just as Richie asked,

“It’s obvious your idea won’t even begin to compare but I’m still itchin’ to hear your idea, Micycle.”

“I think you killed Eddie,” Ben’s voice held an overtly worried tone.

“Somebody cares,” Eddie groaned, head still bowed down as he caught his breath again. “Richie, you are a fucking hazard!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Richie scrambled around again, this time his knobby knee colliding with Eddie’s thigh. Nothing was as pointy as Richie’s elbows, though, so Eddie only winced in a painful annoyance.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“Oh I could neveh, sugah!”

“Richie, god,” Eddie groaned, lolling his head back against the couch.

“You okay, Eddie?” Mike asked, though there was a ghost of laughter in his voice, so Eddie didn’t trust the traitor.

“Just fine,” Eddie grumbled, lightly elbowing Richie in what was meant to be revenge. Richie just laughed, his sides ticklish.

“Our idea,” Mike started, clearly testing the air before he shared, “was a cassette tape. The title could be something like ‘ _Richie’s Greatest Hits’_ or maybe ‘ _The Losers Greatest Hits 1989_ ’.”

“Well gee willy,” Richie pitched into a Voice. And to anyone who knew Richie, it was obviously a cover up for the emotion he didn’t want to show. “Aren’t y’all a bunch o’ saps,”

“We knew you’d like it,” Stan responded, a small on his own face.

“I’ll be like Popeye,”

“Loud and annoying?” Eddie asked, though his voice was teasing.

“Desperately in need of a fucking vegetable,” Stan was teasing, too.

“No, silly,” Richie responded. “Tattooed and sexy.”

“A cartoon character cannot be sexy,”

“He can be whatever he wants to be, Stanley,” Richie shot back.

“Are we just gonna argue all night or what?” Beverly shouted before anyone could speak again.

“Well, I say birthday boy goes first,” Mike said with a smile, leaning over to grab the tattoo gun and hand it to Bill. He and Bev were pulling out the things they’d hidden in the room, gathering their supplies.

“Wish me luck, babe,” Richie leaned into Eddie’s space. Eddie attempted to lean away, but only became stuck between Richie’s body and the couch. Richie pumped his fist in victory, planting wet, smacking kisses against Eddie’s cheeks.

“You’re an idiot,” Eddie grumbled, though his deep and utter fondness for Richie shone through.

“An idiot you love,” Richie teased, his voice a sing-song.

“Whatever,” Eddie pinched Richie’s side, though he did return the kiss Richie placed at his lips.

“You’re gonna be dating a bad boy,” Richie leaned back against the couch, a look of surety on his face. Eddie giggled.

“Nope,” Eddie spoke around his light laughter. “Still a dumbass. Just a dumbass who makes bad decisions,”

Richie didn’t respond, just rose from the couch, tripping on his own feet in the process, falling back into the couch cushions. Eddie openly laughed again. Richie just stood again, this time managing to stay standing. Trying to be graceful—and sexual if the glint in his eyes was anything to go by—Richie walked backwards towards where Beverly and Bill were setting up.

Bill looked ridiculous with a pair of latex gloves on. Beverly was also slipping on a pair, and Mike was standing by wondering if he too ought to wear a pair. They were like a trio of surgeons ready to seriously maim their patient. Eddie’s heart was clogged in his throat again as the endless possibilities swam through his mind.

_Allergic reaction to the tattoo dye. A skin infection. Bloodborne diseases. Were the needles properly cleaned?_

“You watched me clean these, Eds,” Beverly called from the other side of the room, somehow reading his mind. Somehow, she always knew what he was thinking. It was like her superpower.

“Fuck off,” Eddie called back, tearing his eyes away from them and towards Stan. Stan had already voiced his opinion earlier that week, although he wasn’t against the idea.

“I stand by what I said,” Stan spoke up, somehow reading Eddie’s expression. Maybe he was wearing his heart on his sleeve. “If Richie’s stupid enough to let dumb and dumber permanently ink his skin, then who am I to argue.”

“Oh fuck you,” Beverly huffed, while a disgruntled Bill asked,

“Wait, who’s wh-who?”

“He’s proved the point,” Stan shrugged.

“Come on, Stan,” Mike started the same counterargument he’d given ever since the first time Stan voiced his opinion. “It might be kind of fun if we all got one together. A symbol of our friendship,”

Stan frowned. “I thought we discussed what a bad idea that is? These two have no experience.”

“That’s not true!” Beverly spoke up. “My aunt let me do a sunflower on her side since she couldn’t reach it herself. And Bill’s an artist.”

“Because permanently inking someone’s skin now requires the same skill set as watercolor painting,” Stan huffed sarcastically.

“Wow, chill out, Stan, your excitement is killing me,” Richie commented dryly.

“Hey, it’s your body,” Stan shrugged.

“Let’s pour drinks,” Bill suggested, quickly rising from his spot on the couch. “Luh-l-loosen up,”

“Are you insane?!” Eddie hated that his voice screeched a bit, but the levity of what Bill was suggesting nearly stopped Eddie’s heart. “You can’t drink and then tattoo someone!”

“And I’m pretty certain you can’t drink and then be tattooed,” Ben added. “Something about ink and blood poisoning.”

Eddie’s eyes widened; how had he not thought of that?

“Richie, I swear to god, I know you’re half insane but you’re sane enough to not drink, right?” Eddie rambled.

“It’s to help the pain,” Richie defended. “Plus, I’m an adult now, I don’t have to listen to you.”

“For one, no one’s trying to control or parent you, Rich, calm down. And for two, if you can’t handle the pain don’t get a tattoo,” Stan argued, looking warily at Bill who was still dangling the bottle of alcohol in his grasps. “And do not let someone drink and then permanently mark your skin, Richie, Jesus Christ,”

“If Bill drinks, I don’t want one either,” Mike spoke up. Bill made a pouting face, but Mike just gave him a look of decisiveness. “I’m serious, Bill.”

“Party pooper,” Beverly whined.

“I want us to all get this design Ben made,” Mike spoke directly to Beverly. “But I don’t want that getting sloppy and ruined by time the seventh of us gets tattooed.”

“You mean sixth,” Stan corrected.

“No, fifth,” Eddie added.

“Oh come on!” Richie clasped his hands together, fingers laced one with another, laying them against his chest. “We’re the lucky seven, not five.”

“We can still be the lucky seven without matching tramp stamps,” Stan disputed.

“While that sounds so fucking hot, I’m not interested in sharing a tramp stamp with you Staniel,”

“I was imagining them on like our inner biceps,” Ben spoke up, clearing his throat in order to call over the still pounding music. “Right about here or so,” Ben pointed on his own arm, at the soft flesh that would normally be tucked away from the world. “Or maybe our ankles, I don’t know.”

“I like that,” Mike nodded his head, rolling up the sleeves of his baseball tee. He examined the skin, no doubt picturing what it would look like.

“What about Mr. Skeleton, Rich?” Beverly asked. “You gonna match the dream wizard with a chest tatt?”

“Fuck no,” Richie shook his head violently, curls bouncing around. “I heard it hurts less on your thigh, ‘cause more fat and less bone or somethin’,” Richie explained.

“You don’t h-have any f-fat, Richie,” Bill chuckled. “You’re boney, ev-everywhere.”

“Touché,” Richie said in a Voice that Eddie didn’t recognize.

Eddie rose from his seat on the far couch and quickly crossed the basement. Although he couldn’t see over Richie’s shoulder, he peered around the side of him, squeezing into his space. Eddie suddenly needed to have somewhat a say in the process. He felt a large deal of pressure fall onto his shoulders. Richie wasn’t the regretful type, but tonight was unique. Eddie had to keep Richie from doing anything entirely too rash, even for him.

“Just right here on top,” Richie patted the top of his right thigh, still concealed with his somewhat hideous cargo pants. He adored them, and Eddie could admit that there was something special about them.

“You strip,” Beverly pointed at Richie. “And you should draw a sketch out,” Beverly then pointed at Bill.

“Good idea,” Bill nodded.

“I really think you should do a full draft, really make sure you like the way Bill draws it,” Eddie all but pleaded, eyes glancing from Richie to Bill to Bev and back again.

“This is fine,” Bill shook his head, hand already beginning to draw the skeleton’s body.

“I want it to face me,” Richie instructed. Bill’s hand moved quickly, pencil scrawling out the rough draft. “And here, I’ll make the faces I want you to draw,” Eddie nearly laughed, could hear Stan and Mike cackling behind them, as Richie made an overexaggerated smirk, his defined cheekbones settling and his lips pouting. Bill just nodded, scribbling it down.

“And the one that the skeleton is actually holding, I want to look like this,” Richie opened his mouth, his jaw falling down as he made a mock-laughing face. It was as if someone had made the best fucking your mother joke, freezing Richie in pure admiration of the chuck.

“There’s gotta be seven heads all together,” Richie instructed, now making a kissy face.

Beverly joined in, holding the pose in a different way. Bill smiled appreciatively, glancing from Richie to Beverly as he sketched sloppily. Eddie could admit that Bill was talented, and that the faces were near perfect copies of the ones Richie was producing, but his nerves wouldn’t settle down.

From there, Richie glared, eyebrows scrunching lower. And then there was an exaggerated wink. Followed by a completely straight, emotionless face. Last, Richie kept the straight face but turned his head to the side, profile on display for Bill to capture.

“Ta da!” Richie said excitedly, turning to look at what Bill had drawn. The drawing was quite comical, as what should’ve been an emotionless being was cartoonishly pulling each of the faces Richie had shown.

“Oh I love it!” Beverly cheered excitedly, ruffling Richie’s curls as she spoke. “It’s hilarious, it’s punk, it’s incredible!”

“Awh, shucks, Miss Scawlett,” Richie droned, pulling down his cargo pants before taking a seat on the stool settled between Bill’s legs. Bill was still in the armchair, though he’d tucked his legs up and underneath him in order to pull the stool as close as it would come.

Richie had to push up his boxers, and as he sat ready to go, he turned to Eddie, an anxious sort of look pinched at the corners of his eyes.

“You still gonna let me rail you after this?” Richie asked, and though the question was ridiculous and not one Eddie liked to share with company, he recognized the _need_ in Richie’s voice.

“You’re ridiculous,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes. But he did lean down close enough that their lips were touching. Eddie could feel Richie’s curls against the side of his face, and the puffs of breath Richie huffed out in exhale. Eddie pressed firmer, capturing Richie’s nerves and his growing smile. “It’s your stupid body, fuck it up however you want.”

“Eds!” Richie gasped, pulling away. There were words on the tip of Richie’s tongue, ones Eddie knew he wouldn’t be able to push out.

“I don’t like your body ‘cause it’s all white and blank,” Eddie pushed tendrils of Richie’s hair out of his eyes. “It’s ‘cause it’s you, dumbass.”

“I thought you loved me for my powerful physique,” Richie grinned.

Eddie laughed. “Yeah, that and your horns,”

“More like wings,” Richie shot back.

“Are you two guh-gonna flirt all n-night, or,” Bill spoke up, but he was grinning.

“Sorry to keep ya waitin’,” Richie’s voice tinkered like a bell, as he turned to face Bill and Bev once again.

Eddie wasn’t sure what he had thought the tattooing process was, but he could honestly say now that this wasn’t anything like he had pictured. He thought there would’ve been screaming and blood and maybe clamped hands. He hadn’t expected the silent, thick teardrops that slid down Richie’s cheeks as he joked about finally being legal or how now Eddie wasn’t illegally fucking a minor anymore.

When Bill turned his wrist, creating a curling edge or rounded circle, Richie turned his head away, tucking his face into Eddie’s stomach. And by time the skeleton body was finished, Richie was babbling nonsense, his words no longer forming smartass sentences or inappropriate jokes. The fragmented sentences only got worse as each skeleton head was drawn. His words were only curses and drawn out vowels.

Richie was a _sight_. His hair was a frazzled mess, from where he’d tugged on it. The back of his head was clearly knotted, as he’d laid it back against Eddie’s chest and rolled it back and forth. Eddie could see just barely see Richie’s eyes from his position, only slightly alarmed by how bloodshot they were. Richie’s bottom lip was well and truly bruised from the gnawing and biting he’d done. His ankles were still bound by the cargo pants that were pooled there, and his hotdog printed boxers were pushed up only on his right thigh. And the smudged black excess ink that covered the rest of his thigh looked dirty and grimy.

“And… done!” Bill exclaimed, finally switching off the incessant buzzing of the tattoo gun. “I lu-lu-love it!” Bill said, admiring his work. From her place, Beverly too stared in admiration of what she’d helped create.

“It’s beautiful,” she nodded. “Richie?” She asked, as his silence continued. Eddie looked away from his boyfriends inked thigh, and towards his face.

Richie was grinning, eyes widening and glistening as he took in the tattoo. The tear tracks from earlier were still present, leaving marks all down his cheeks. And the purplish color of his bottom lip stood in stark comparison to the crimson of his upper lip. But he was smiling.

“It’s fucking wicked, Billiam,” Richie finally spoke, a tone of awe in his voice. “What the actual fuck?!”

“You like it?” Bill asked.

“Billany, it’s so fucking,” he stopped, clearly searching for the right phrase. “Totally insane,” Richie licked at his bottom lip, still staring down at his leg. “Props on this incredible tatt, Big Bill, like,” his voice trailed off again.

“Word,” Bev agreed, grinning.

“Thanks, guys,” Bill smiled proudly. “What ab-bout the cassette tape?”

“I’m good, I think,” Richie said quickly, seeming to surprise even himself. He looked away from the juggling skeleton and up at Bill. “I mean, I wouldn’t wanna tire out the artist.”

“Well, then who’s up?” Bill turned to the group at large.

“Me!” Beverly exclaimed quickly, jumping up from her spot as Bill’s assistant. “I want the lucky seven one, right where Ben imagined it.” She lifted her arm, flexing, and her bicep was just visible underneath the sheer black top she was wearing over a black tank top. It matched the black velvet headband she wore, pushing her hair out of her face.

“I’ll assist ya, Bill,” Mike offered, and Bill nodded happily. Mike pulled on a pair of latex gloves, and they got to work prepping Beverly and the tools.

Eddie’s attention shifted when Richie let a huffed breath of pain or annoyance or _something_. Eddie turned to him and watched for a second as he attempted to stand up. He was cursing under his breath, struggling to avoid any pressure near the new tattoo.

“Let me help you, ya big baby,” Eddie ordered, grabbing for Richie’s waist. Eddie had to balance them both as he led Richie to the large couch closest to them. It was an awkward shuffle, what with Richie’s pants still tangled at his ankles and efforts to guard his thigh. He was wincing, but it was all in an exaggerated Richie way. Eddie wasn’t concerned; well any more concerned than he had been. His stupid boyfriend had just let one of their friends permanently ink him. That was concerning enough for the evening.

Somehow, they made it to the edge of the couch, falling onto the cushions together. Eddie huffed out a breath.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Richie whined lowly, turning his head into the crook of Eddie’s neck.

“You comfortable?” Eddie asked, pushing Richie’s curls away from his face. His hairline was damp with sweat, allowing his hair to slick back. Eddie ignored the sticky slick feeling on his fingers, focusing instead on wrapping an arm around Richie.

“Mhm,” Richie responded, settling in.

Eddie’s attention was scattered—he wondered if this was how Richie constantly felt. There was Richie’s deep breathing from his spot curled into Eddie’s side. And across the room, Bill and Mike were finishing Beverly’s tattoo. A long, never-ending litany of curse words were falling from her lips. Stan was perched on the edge of his seat, eyes wide with concern as he watched Beverly. And then there was the music playing, Mike’s head bobbing along as he held Beverly’s free hand.

And there was the large tattoo that now clung to his boyfriends’ skin. Eddie could pull his gaze away for moments at a time, but then it was back down to his boyfriends’ leg. It was mesmerizing. There was a part of Richie’s imagination and Bill’s artistic ability permanently inked to Richie. Their relationship was forged together in the form of something permanent and incredible. For the rest of forever, whenever Richie looked down, there was a reminder of this night, and of the person who brought the creation to life. Was it twisted if he wanted a part of that the enduring story too?

Eddie popped up into a seated position, jostling Richie and earning him a low whine. Eddie pulled at Richie’s arm, attempting to get his attention.

“I wanna, I-” Eddie cut himself off and cleared his throat. “I want to do one, I mean, like, if you want another,” Eddie bit his tongue, a finger pointing down at the skeleton on Richie’s thigh. He snatched his hand back the second he realized, feeling extremely alert as he surveyed Richie, watching for any sign of his discomfort. But there was none to find, instead a growing, wicked smile was lighting up his face. His pupils were already blown wide, the after effects of Bill and Bev’s work.

“Yowza, baby Eds,” Richie finally spoke, his tongue poking out to lick at his bottom lip. Neither had broken eye contact, instead the feeling between them was growing electric, nearly too much for Eddie to get a handle on. He wanted to say, ‘ _Don’t call me that in front of our friends’_ and ‘ _I’m not a baby’_ and as the words fumbled at his lips, unable to all come out together, he stumbled out,

“ _Don’t_ , baby,”

“Hm, baby?” Richie asked, confused but smiling.

“I wanna do you,” Eddie fumbled out, watching in half confusion as Richie’s eyes light up.

“Fuck, yeah, just bend me over, babe,” Richie crooned, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Fuck off,” Eddie groaned. “You know I don’t mean like that!”

“Sure, Eds,” Richie agreed. “So, what’ll it be then?”

Eddie had spent the entire week conjuring millions of ideas for each of his friends surrounding him. Like Beverly with a butterfly, to signify her freedom from her father. Or a quote from his favorite book for Mike. Bill might choose something meaningful, if his ghosts weren’t too heavy. And forget Stan, who had made it clear how he felt about being tattooed. But an idea for Richie had been a mystery. Beverly had asked him about ten times a day; whispers when they were gathered together, after track practice, lingering looks while passing in the hallways. He’d spent the entire week trying to think of anything to add to the seeming list of ideas the other Losers had constructed. Sitting here, with Richie beside him, their bodies pressed flush against one another, and the love he felt for Richie tangible between them Eddie felt ridiculous; it all seemed so obvious now.

“R plus E,” Eddie said easily, as if he’d known all along. “Duh,”

“Duh.” Richie nodded, sitting up slightly. “I’m next!” He called to the others, just as they seemed to finish Beverly.

“You already went,” Mike argued. “It’s me, then Ben,”

“But it’s my birthday!” Richie whined, a horrible screech laced into each of his words. He sounded like a petulant child, but it worked when Ben just shrugged.

“I’m okay with that,”

“Don’t chicken out!” Beverly elbowed Ben with the arm that wasn’t currently being wrapped up in some makeshift cover.

“I’m not, I’m just okay if Richie goes next,”

“Bill’s already got the gun cleaned and you’re all the while over there,” Mike shrugged with a giant smile, as if he was stuck with his hands tied. “Too bad I’m already right here ready to go.”

“Fuck you, Mike, and your gorgeous smile and twinkly eyes!” Richie hollered, snuggling back into Eddie’s side. “I’ll forgive you on the grounds that you’re beautiful.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Mike chuckled. Ben was helper now, holding up Mike’s arm as Bill got to work on yet another tattoo. Soon, Eddie knew, Bill would be whining, and it’d be someone else’s turn to ink four leaf clovers and number sevens.

“Look!” Beverly came bounding over to the couple, kneeling before them and flexing her bicep. “It’s amazing!”

 _It’s tacky_ , Eddie wanted to object. But something stopped him. Because even though Bill’s four-leaf clover doodling was a bit lopsided, it was kind of perfect.

“It’s bitchin’,” Richie told her honestly, and so Eddie just nodded his head in easy agreement.

Richie’s head was heavy in his lap, and Eddie’s fingers slowly found their way into his curls. Richie was quiet, way more than normal. Eddie watched happily as Richie continued to fidget; a welcoming normal. Richie’s middle finger and thumb were pinched together, Eddie’s t-shirt hem between them as he worried the fabric. Eddie continued to slowly detangle the curls that sprawled around his head. Eddie was hardwired for this, affectionately cuddling his boyfriend while simultaneously worrying.

“How do you feel?” Eddie glanced down, meeting eyes with Richie.

“Doesn’t hurt so bad anymore,” Richie’s voice was still kind of faraway, still kind of whispery in tone. Eddie hummed in acknowledgement, glancing around the room again.

Nobody makes a noise to alert Richie when Mike’s tattoo is finally finished. Bev just pushed at Ben until he sat in the little stool. From his spot across the room, Eddie could see how big and bright Ben’s eyes were. A nervous energy came out of him in form of an awkward chuckle as he pulled at his t-shirt sleeves.

Eddie watched in fascination, as once again dark ink permanently stained the skin of someone he loved. The tattoo is tiny, and loud, and there was ink bleeding all down Ben’s arm and onto his lap. Eddie had to look away. They’re three for seven now. Bill was next, he knew and then there would be Richie. And then the begging and pleading would start up again.

As the process of Ben’s tattoo continues, Eddie glances at each of his friends in turn. Eddie felt suddenly incapable of keeping his guard up when the _it’s just one_ and _come on, Eds, be brave_ and _it’s a ritual, it’s special_ begins. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. There was something about the nervous giggles coming out of Ben, as he tried to sit still. Beverly was holding his arm up, and Bill gripped the buzzing tool in his grasps, permanently inking poor Ben’s inner bicep. And from where Eddie was sitting it didn’t seem horrible.

What was he even afraid of? The pain? Bev had somehow conjured a blunt, and the others were passing it around, smoking weed to eliminate the pain. Or was he afraid of the permanence of it? The Losers had already left their mark on him, one that would last even longer than some shitty inked-up skin.

“What do you think?” Richie’s voice beside him was startling, even if he’d known that Richie was right beside him.

“Hm?” Eddie barely tore his eyes away in order to properly look at Richie. Everything was like a background noise once his eyes met with Richie’s again. They were still glittering in that half-drunk, nearly passed out on pain glow that they’d had since the tattoo gun had first touched his skin.

Richie just chuckled, low, like the entire situation was hilarious to him. (And it probably was, knowing Richie.) “About getting a tattoo?”

“No way,” Eddie said, but it was like a reflex, like a gut instinct.

“Come on,” Richie tried again. His speech was slower than normal, but his eyes were bright, and his hand was heavy and warm from it’s resting place atop Eddie’s thigh.

“No,” Eddie said again, though he wasn’t arguing. If Richie were more alert, he’d have probably already picked up on Eddie’s hesitancy, on the way he wasn’t fighting it with more energy than his small body could possibly possess. But Richie like this had a goal and his mind was set towards it alone.

“But you’d match us all,” Richie said, thumb beginning to trace the inside of Eddie’s thigh. He shivered against his will but kept Richie’s glittering eye contact. “It’d be so _hot_ , Eds.”

“It’d have to be hidden, dumbass. You’d rarely see it,”

Richie’s eyes widened. “Like an ass tatt? That’s even hotter. Every time I’ve got you-”

“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie nearly shouted. And though he wasn’t embarrassed—wasn’t blushing—he also wasn’t interested in everyone hearing the end to that sentence. “I didn’t mean an ass tattoo, Richie, that’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t think so,” Richie frowned. “I think that’d be so hot and incredible and we should both get one.”

“No,” Eddie said again, though this time he was certainly serious.

“Looking good, babe!” Beverly’s loud voice filled the basement again, just heard over the music they were still playing. Eddie tore his gaze away from his boyfriend and towards a proud looking Ben. Beverly kissed the top of his head, where his hair lay flat.

“Eddie’s next!” Richie yelled.

“Bill’s next,” Beverly corrected, her smile growing. “But then _definitely_ Eddie next!”

Eddie’s mind was full of a buzzing noise, one he wasn’t sure how to quiet.

Everything next happened in a blur. Days from now, when Eddie admired the healing tattoo in the mirror of his bathroom, he could hardly imagine this part of the night. Eddie remembered it in polaroid snapshots.

There was Bill, nearly bent over in half on the stool, Beverly tattooing his inner bicep. Eddie could picture the tears that had streamed down Bill’s cheeks as he gritted his teeth and did his best to stay strong. Mike, ever the strong and loving presence, held hands with Bill, knuckles changing shades with the strength of Bill’s grip.

And then there was he and Richie cuddled on the big couch. Every place their bodies touched was on fire, both too much and not nearly enough. Richie was breathing evenly, deeply, as if he’d fallen asleep right there in the Denbrough’s basement. And Eddie would’ve believed it too, if it hadn’t been for the patterns Richie was tracing against Eddie’s shin with the heel of his foot.

Stan remained in his armchair, features scrunched up in eternal worry. He huffed when talked to, and inserted no helpful comments. The rainbow crocheted blanket in his lap was smoothed perfectly straight, and his ankles sat crossed just visible past the edge of the blanket.

Eddie knew Bill was finished when he fell to the floor in a fit of dramatics. He had curled in on himself, groaning about the pain, wondering loudly if it would ever seize.

“What an act to follow,” Richie had joked, pushing Eddie towards the edge of the couch.

“I’m not, no, I,” Eddie had babbled, his fingers gripping Richie’s wrist with as much strength as he could muster. Which would’ve been enough had Richie not been so damn tall and determined. “You’re gonna fall, you big buffoon!” Eddie scrambled to try and brace Richie before he tumbled down. “You’ve still got these fucking tangled!”

“Awh, I forgot about my wardrobe change,” Richie said, a stuffiness added to his Voice.

“Take them off already,” Eddie instructed, even as he bent over to help Richie remove the cargo pants still pooled around his ankles. But once the obstacle was gone, Richie was clear to limp across the room with a disgruntled Eddie clinging to his wrist. Even as Eddie struggled to pull Richie backwards, Richie advanced forward.

“Beverly, my liege,” Richie bowed as they approached Beverly’s station. She was cleaning out the gun, a wicked grin across her features.

“Goody two shoes Kaspbrak with a tattoo?!” She teased. “Who would’ve ever imagined?!”

“Oh fuck off,” Eddie bit back. “I am not innocent,”

“Far from it, babe,” Richie agreed.

“See!” Eddie couldn’t help the indignation that filled his voice, knowing he sounded childish even as he did so.

“You’re so cute when you’re feisty, Eds,” Beverly told him, grabbing for him.

“No! Richie first!”

“Fine, alright,” Richie nodded, slumping into the stool. The sudden shift in balance tipped Eddie over slightly, though he righted himself as Beverly handed him a pair of gloves.

“Alright, you got this?” Beverly asked Eddie, the tattoo gun held out to him. Eddie could only nod, nerves erupting in his stomach like butterflies bursting from their cocoons.

Richie’s next two tattoos went just like his first two. That is to say that cursing and groaning filled the room as Richie bit down on his bottom lip and fought off tears of pain. In an attempt to hurry and cause as minimal pain as necessary, Eddie moved quickly. But the faster his movements, the sloppier they became.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Eddie hissed, pulling away after the plus sign to soothe his shaking hand.

“Um, not really what you want to hear from your tattoo artist,” Richie spoke up, his voice croaky.

“It’s nothing,” Eddie assured lamely, taking a deep breath. The _E_ would be easy, a reminder of his love and belonging within their relationship. A beacon of hope in dark times and an assurance in shaky times. His love for Richie wasn’t fragile, neither was this declaration.

A proud, yet crooked, black ink _R + E_ provided sharp contrast to Richie’s pale inner bicep. Eddie wanted to kiss the puffy red skin surrounding it, wanted to pull a panting Richie into his arms. He nodded at Beverly instead, as she brought the gun back up to add the Losers club symbol.

Somehow, Eddie had out waited everyone. It was now or never, face the music or flea from the spotlight. The choice wasn’t one of actuality, but of formality. Everyone had always known what Eddie would do. And so as Bev rose the tattoo gun, and Mike’s steadiness forced his arm to remain arced and balanced, Eddie grabbed for Richie.

The pain blocked everything out. Eddie knew he was speaking, knew that sounds were coming out of his mouth. But he had no idea what. He knew that he was gripping Richie’s hand in his own, that his other hand was scrunched held fanned out by Mike. But he couldn’t really feel that either. His feet were firmly planted on the ground, but that feeling was so far from something he was actively experiencing. The buzzing of the gun was loud in his ears. The music, the voices of the others, the crude encouragement coming from Richie—all of it was drowned out by the incessant and methodical buzzing.

“Are you close?!” Eddie could barely hear himself ask, straining to hear an answer.

“Almost,” Beverly’s voice was nearly inaudible, but he could just tell she was speaking more, “I’ve just got the seven left,”

 _Lucky number 7_ , Eddie thought. The clover, the number, the everlasting endurance of friendships forged in shitty water and blood pacts. Those memories were sometimes so fatal, so hard to grasp. But this, here, sitting in the loud and smoke-filled basement of the Denbrough’s, surrounded and sealed by this group of misfits was overwhelming in the best way possible.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought!! I love hearing your thoughts and feelings; they never fail to make my day.


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